#or fumbling

Nearly a day has passed since her labor pains hit, water bursting and unimaginable pain blossoming within the Wrath’s abdomen. Everything was accounted for then. But not their daughter decided not to be where she was supposed to be, prolonging the labor and endangering Andraria’s life in the process. 

Concern, frustration, fear - all melted away the second the doors opened. There wasn’t a look of fear or dread when the medical chief approached him. Nothing save a tired, exhausted expression on the man’s face. The faint scent of blood clung to him. Speckles of old blood dotting the man’s once pristine white boots with flecks of red. There were more spots on the rest of his wardrobe- a sign of something concerning… had it not been for the lack of trepidation. Curtly and harshly he demanded to see them both, letting agitation slip between the cracks of his controlled visage. 

Andraria was long asleep by the time he arrived. Nearly colorless…. weakened… wavering. But she was alive. Breathing the same air as him. It was something. And if she truly was teetering on the brink, then his staff would have reacted differently. Far differently. And for all his appreciation for the men and women under his command- if she died because of their negligence… no one would leave this place alive.

Like the crack of the whip, he calls for his daughter to be brought to him, immediately. They fumble around as one of the attendants emerges from the adjacent room, a small bundle of gold and red cloth nestled in their arms. Wordlessly he’s handed the bundle. The weight of it startlingly light in comparison to the things he’s held. It’s almost unsettling.

Peering inside the folds of cloth he spies a flash of red, bright and vibrant in comparison to his own deep almost dusky red color. His daughter, sensing him, wiggled within the confines of the cloth, her almost entirely smooth face save for a few raised curving along her brow, scrunched up in distress. Vowrawn couldn’t tell if she would bear his eyes or another color- like gold, orange, or some shade of dark red. He doubted he’d see her with blue eyes. Regrettably. Partly human or not, his bloodline overpowered the other- with the smoothness of her face taking after Andraria. 

If she did bear blue eyes, it would be a shock and a delight.

His daughter didn’t make a sound. Not a single one as he tried to part the cloth to see more of her face and hands. Clearly, given the look of discomfort contorted the pudgy softened features of her face, she disliked being unraveled and torn from the warmth of the fabric. 

It took only a touch for the tingle of force sensitivity to brush across his senses. Weak. But not concerning given the situation. 

Pride lit up in his blood red eyes, a smirk dancing across his mouth as he consistently failed in getting his daughter comfortably settled in his arms. She proved fussy and yet, never screamed or wailed like so many other newborns.

Vowrawn dismissed his staff. Insisting they weren’t allowed in unless called for. The room emptied leaving behind only himself, his wife, and his new daughter.

Unsteady on his feet he sat down beside Andraria’s sleeping form. In the time he took to study their daughter, her complexion looked a touch better. A faint hint of color. 

Contentment hit hard. Reality knocking the wind out him soon after with the wiggling of his newborn daughter. 

Amusement flickered across his features in regards to her. “You’ve caused quite a bit of trouble so quickly. I suppose you take after one of us when it comes to making things bothersome for others.”